Friday, October 31, 2014

The way we experience photographs today is very different from
the way people experienced them 120 years ago.
We press the shutter on our digital cameras without concern; if the
photograph doesn’t turn out it can easily be deleted. We load photographs onto our computers, edit
them on a screen, and share them online.
Our photographs stay in a digital world, existing as pixels rather than
prints or plates.

It is easy to forget that the photograph can also be an
object rather than just an image. The photographs
in the Marriott C. Morris Collection serve as a reminder of the simultaneous
fragility and durability, tactility and “thing-ness” that photographs can have.

Marriott C. Morris, Old Swede’s Church Wilmington. From 6th St. Snow on Ground. 1883.

Many of the photographs in the Marriott C. Morris Collection
come in the form of glass negatives. The
thin glass plates are all stored individually in acid-free sleeves and
organized into boxes. They must be
handled with gloves so that fingerprints and oils from the skin do not damage
the plates. Unless they are held up to
the light, the image on the plate is often difficult to discern in the hazy
film of emulsion. With the use of a
lightbox, the image appears in negative form. What we think should be dark is light and vice
versa. For example, in this image of Old
Swede’s Church the snow on the roof and cemetery grounds appears black in the
negative. Similarly, the ghostly white
tendrils in the negative become bare, black tree branches in the positive
image.

Marriott C. Morris, Elliston P. Morris, ca. 1890.

The negatives of people are especially arresting, their
faces emerging like ghosts from the lightbox.
While haunting, these negatives hide details about the sitter that only
emerge when the positive image is created.
Marriott C. Morris’ father Elliston P. Morris’ kind eyes are obscured in
the negative version of his portrait but gaze out warmly from the positive
image.

Negatives hide things but also reveal them. For example, in the negative view of Morris’
portrait the emulsion has been burnished around the face and small scratches
made to emphasize areas of light and create shadow. This shows Marriott C. Morris’ hand not only
in taking the photograph, but also the refinement of the negative, the physical
act of dragging metal across glass. The
process of digitizing the Marriott C. Morris Collection is a very important
one. However, we must not forget the
original form of these photographs as glass negatives, both mystery and
revelation, both object and image.

The catalog entry for Spectropia; or,
Surprising Spectral Illusions (New York, 1864) piqued the interest of Library Company Fellow Jessica Linker, who is
researching women science practitioners in early America. Upon examination, she
discovered it to be a peculiar mix of scientific didacticism and spooky
entertainment.

“It is a curious fact that, in this age of
scientific research, the absurd follies of spiritualism should find an increase
of supporters…” lamented J. H. Brown, writing in 1864. Decrying popular belief
in spirit-rapping, table-turning, and witchcraft, Brown warned his readers to
be wary of practitioners of the supernatural, insisting the “modern professor
of these impostures, like his predecessors in all such disreputable arts, is
bent only on raising the contents of pockets of the most gullible portion of
humanity…” Surely this was sound advice, but perhaps not what one expected of a
book that promised to show “ghosts everywhere, and of every color.”

Spectropia; or,
Surprising Spectral Illusions was in fact an amusing series of optical
illusions that depended upon afterimage, a phenomenon where an image lingers in
one’s field of vision. You have likely experienced afterimage before; perhaps,
despite your parents’ admonitions, you have glanced at the sun long enough to
see blue or purple spots floating through the air upon looking away. Spectropia operates on a similar
principle. The book contains sixteen color plates of various ghosts and spectres
that, if stared at, would seemingly dance before the reader’s eyes in colors
complementary to the original image.

The
plates are accompanied by a detailed explanation of both afterimage and color
inversion. Brown guides his readers through the function and structure of the
human eye, as well as color theory, making what would otherwise be a novelty
into something didactic. Why? The author’s ultimate aim was to combat
superstition by demonstrating that so-called apparitions had logical
explanations, all the while entertaining his audience. In this context, the act
of seeing spectres was transformed into a scientific demonstration that robbed
would-be charlatans of their power to beguile innocent minds.

If
you would like to view the illusion yourself, simply follow these instructions.

In each image, locate the asterisk (*).

In a well-lit room, focus your eyes on the asterisk while counting to 20. Be careful not to blink or look away. The closer you are to your image, the larger the illusion will appear.

Stare at a white piece of paper or wall. You should see the shape of the spectre floating before your eyes. Red spectres on paper will appear green in the air, blue will appear orange, and so on, according to the original color and its complement.

Jessica
Linker

Ph.D.
Candidate in History, University of Connecticut

Albert
M. Greenfield Foundation Dissertation Fellow at the Library Company

Thursday, October 2, 2014

A young woman leans against a painted brick wall, her back
straight and her hair dark hair pulled into a knot at the top of her head.She holds a baby in her arms wrapped snugly
in a knitted blanket. The baby’s left hand is a blur of motion; despite his
calm expression he was unable to keep still for the photograph. Who was this
woman with the timid smile?And who was
this chubby cheeked child?

We know who this woman was partly because her husband,
Marriott C. Morris, decided to take her photograph.Her name was Jane Rhoads Morris and the baby
is probably one of her sons, Elliston Perot Morris or Marriott C. Morris
Jr.She married Morris in 1897, but her
husband had been taking photographs long before then.

Marriott C. Morris was a member of a prominent Philadelphia
Quaker family who took his first photographs during his freshman year at
Haverford College.Morris continued to
document his life through photographs of his large extended family and network
of friends, his Germantown neighborhood and his many travels across the East
Coast and even Bermuda.One of his
favorite subjects was the Morris family home Avocado, located in Sea Girt, New
Jersey.

Thanks to a generous donation made by Marriott C. Morris’s
grandchildren David Marriott Morris, Eleanor Rhoads Morris Cox and William
Perot Morris in memory of Marriott Canby Morris, the Library Company will be
able to share these photographs with a wide audience.Through a process of research, digitization
and publication, people will be able to experience these photographs through
the Library Company’s blog, twitter feed and an upcoming online
exhibition.As the Assistant Project
Manager for this collection it is my hope that these photographs will not be
seen simply as images of nameless faces but as a record of lives well lived, as
a capsule of what Morris loved and wanted to remember.Even more, these photographs providea window into the past, a snapshot of a time
and a place, that give us a glimpse of everyday life in late 19th century
Philadelphia.There is a lot to learn
from these photographs and I’m excited to share the Marriott C. Morris Photograph
Collection with you.

Subscribe To

Follow by Email

The Library Company of Philadelphia

The Library Company of Philadelphia is an independent research library specializing in American history and culture from the 17th through the 19th centuries. Open to the public free of charge, the Library Company houses an extensive collection of rare books, manuscripts, broadsides, ephemera, prints, photographs, and works of art. Founded in 1731 by Benjamin Franklin, the Library Company is America's oldest cultural institution and served as the Library of Congress from the Revolutionary War to 1800. The Library Company was the largest public library in America until the Civil War.

The mission of the Library Company is to preserve, interpret, make available, and augment the valuable materials in our care. We serve a diverse constituency throughout Philadelphia and internationally, offering comprehensive reader services, an internationally renowned fellowship program, online catalogs, and regular exhibitions and public programs.